The Between Years

find some way to learn the girl’s name. Answers.
    She inches closer to the dresser, finds a picture of the girl on a swing, and figures that she’s five or six in this one. She lifts the photo, and holds it close, but worries that she will smudge the glass.
    In the top drawer, she finds several hospital bracelets with the name Mackenzie on them. Various ages are printed on them but they stop after age eight. Rosemary drops the bracelets and hurries out of the room.
    Downstairs, she awaits the open door. Time is too short for her to care who will see her leaving
    She has a long trip ahead of her.
    ***
    Rosemary trudges through the snow, and is careful not to slip on the ice beneath. The night has grown silent and she clutches herself for warmth. Her legs ache and she worries that she cannot make the trip back, but she knows that she must. Her escape from Peter’s house had been uneventful, as she moved swiftly out the front door, and was certain that no one had seen her, but still . . . .
    Rosemary wishes that she hadn’t sought out a single answer. This trip has brought her nothing but pain but Peter’s happiness is all that matters to her. On the inside, she knows that he is suffering, just as Rosemary has suffered for years. His Mackenzie is lost and Rosemary is determined to find her.
    She checks her watch. Have to get back.
    The next life is no place for little girls, Rosemary thinks. Not her sweet Mackenzie. When she finds her, Rosemary is determined to throw her arm around her, and take good care of her, until her dear Peter can be with her again.
    When she approaches the Anglican Church overlooking the Niagara River, she bursts through the cemetery gate, and weaves through the gravestones.
    One stone sits alone, buried in snow, but Rosemary looks no farther. She dusts some snow off with her foot, but not enough to uncover the epitaph, and she is glad. At one point, a second stone would have accompanied it, but Rosemary finally understands that everything changes.
    She lies in the snow, rests her aching legs, stares up at the sky, and shuts her eyes.

Family Ties

    The only sensible question I can think to ask is why did you stroll back into my life? I mean, it’s not like I sent an invitation, and not like our relationship has been anything better than frigid. Yet here you are. When I saw you, I wasn’t sure how to react. Frankly, I was too troubled to spit out any words. I knew ‘Daddy’ would’ve turned you off and even ‘Dad’ sounded too warm. I figured ‘Father’ was the best I could say, and you’ll just have to live with that.
    In addition to the whirlwind of emotions, countless memories rushed my psyche like a tidal wave. Memories are such funny things, aren’t they? Time stood still when I saw you. Though I remember everything about you, I think your smell stands out the most. That distinct tobacco reek that filled my nostrils every time you lit a cigarette was unmistakable. Du Maurier. I can’t even see that brand at the 7-11 without thinking of you.
    Next, I think of the plaid shirts that you favored, and the stubble that you sometimes wore because you skipped shaving on weekends. Then I remember your large, tombstone-like teeth that were impossibly yellow. I used to wonder when one of those suckers would fall out, but you managed to show up the dentist time and again. That is, until I was a teenager, and apparently longer.
    When I saw you, my mind raced back to being nine years old. You taught me to play the piano. ‘Taught’ seems like too strong a word. What you did was sit me at the piano bench and rap my fingers with a ruler each time I made a mistake. Every child should be a prodigy and master The Marriage of Figaro before their tenth birthday, after all. Welts on my knuckles, blood on my fingers and tears in my eyes meant nothing to you, Father.
    But that was nothing, I suppose. In fact, it seems like a mercy compared to what you did to Josh when he came home with Fs on his report card. Dyslexia is a tool of the child psychologists, you always said. I still remember how you would take him out back, and how I’d had to cover my ears to tune out his screaming and crying. And I remember how he’d always had to stay home from school the next day.
    And you never conjured up contrived excuses for his teachers, I’ll give you that. Yours were never the falling down the stairs or walking into the door diatribes that got parents charged. No, you made sure Josh stayed home at